


A banquet of consequences

by FactoryKat



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angry Hawke (Dragon Age), Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Custom Male Hawke (Dragon Age), Dragon Age II Quest - Best Served Cold, Kidnapping, M/M, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Protective Hawke (Dragon Age), relatively
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:41:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23412523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FactoryKat/pseuds/FactoryKat
Summary: Based on the quest: Best Served Cold in which Hawke finds himself faced with a terrifying possibility and the very real understanding that luck is just not on his side. Ever.
Relationships: Anders/Male Hawke
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Sooner or later, everyone sits down to a banquet of consequences." Robert Louis Stevenson

Dread twisted itself neatly in the pit of his stomach, but Wyatt forced it back and pointedly chose to ignore the warnings flashing through his mind. 

The foursome had elected to search the warehouses nestled along the docks. Hawke's posture was rigid, his gut was tight, there was a twitch in his staff arm, and the more delicate hairs along the back of his neck stood at attention. Stillness and silence filled every space in the room as unease filled the ones in his mind. 

"Hawke…" Aveline's voice was jarring against the quiet. "I don't like this. Be on your guard."

"Really? What gave it away?" He flashed her a convincing grin despite his innards tying themselves into knots. It was the only way he knew how to keep his wits about him. 

Everything about this whole trip had felt wrong from the start. Hawke had woken first to a note from Anders, who slipped away to the clinic for an emergency and then a letter from First Enchanter Orsino shortly after that. Nothing about either of the notes felt suspicious, but that didn't stop the irrational fears from creeping in.

No one else dared break the deafening quiet as they cautiously tiptoed around crates and equipment, all of them expecting the worst. Hawke was grateful he wasn't feeling alone in his anxiety, but it provided no relief. Varric swept for traps and disarmed the scant few he found. The door to the adjacent room was slightly ajar, and through the crack, signs of life were visible. Hushed murmurs reverberated off the high walls.

Knowing they weren't alone anymore, the foursome pushed on with more confidence and stepped through the door. The group's arrival was on the heels of a lively conversation between a fair-haired Templar and a dark-skinned mage swathed in robes far too elegant for Kirkwall's gallows. It was the enchanter who noticed them first, spitting curses at the armored man standing beside him before taking off in a hurry. The Templar was the next to realize their presence.

Keran. Ser Keran stared at them in abject horror as he took a few cautious steps backward, head shaking. "Oh, Maker. I told them not to do it, I swear!" He was gone in an instant, disappearing behind a wall partition.

"Keran? What are you-" Hawke stammered, thoroughly perplexed. "Shit." Adrenaline flooded his systems, and panic blossomed somewhere within as more templars emerged from various hiding places, like a wound under pressure oozing pus and blood. They closed in, and he felt the familiar telltale twitch in his fingers before flames erupted from his palm. His right arm instinctively swung down, brandishing his staff in preparation for a fight. "Of course, it's an ambush."

Instinct took over when the prickle of wrongness crawled along the back of his neck, and Wyatt turned on the ball of his heel to pitch the coiling flames at the fast-approaching assailant with his sword drawn. The spell connected, hitting the templar square against his breastplate hard enough that he stumbled, giving the furious mage an opening to flick his staff forward, left then right, gripping with both hands now, at another closing in fast. Bolts of pure ice zipped through the air and made contact with two other targets. 

"Hawke!" 

By the time Varric's shout was even heard over the commotion, Wyatt already felt the sting of steel kiss his flesh. Pain bloomed across his torso as a blade found itself lodged firmly in his side, cutting even through the leather of his armor. There was little time to process what happened, only to turn around and retaliate. Bodies dropped around him as the others made short work of the other templar knights.

The fight was over only moments after it had begun, and Hawke was silently grateful for his companions. They were a machine in the heat of combat, that much could be said. Wyatt never stowed his staff, clutching it still while using the back of his gloved left hand to clean the blood from his face. 

Hesitant, Ser Keran stepped out from the shadows with his hands held high. "I swear if I had known you were the one they were talking about- I don't hold with kidnapping! Not after what I went through-"

"Maker's balls, what are you talking about, Keran? And didn't I save your life? What's this about?" Conceding that the man was harmless, or at least had no intention to attack, Wyatt returned his staff to its proper place on the back of his armor. 

He seemed distressed, flighty. It only added to Hawke's surmounting fear that something was very amiss. "You did, and I'm eternally grateful. I still have nightmares about those blood mages. I -"

"Spit it out, man!" Aveline barked. 

He jumped but complied. "If I had known they were one of yours, I wouldn't have let them do it." Keran bowed his head appearing regretful, but the pieces still didn't fit. 

Mouth dry, anticipation snaked over his skin like electricity. His fingers twitched again. "Wait - kidnapping? One of mine?"

"We just got word they pulled some Ferelden mage out of Hightown." 

Hawke could feel the color drain from his face as his stomach fell. The blood rushing in his ears, pumping in rhythm to the heavy staccato of his heartbeat drowned out everything else. Ice pricked at his fingertips that he clutched tightly against his palm in tense fists. 

_Anders_.

As if acting on their own accord, his hands lashed out, grabbing Keran before Hawke could stop himself, and brutishly shoved him against the same wall partition he had been hiding behind. "You bastards kidnapped someone _important_ to me. Why?!"

Keran swallowed and stared back at him with a harrowed gaze. He raised his hands in surrender once again; "We weren't going to hurt him! We were only looking to send a message for you to leave us alone! I swear!"

"You're not making any more sense than you were a minute ago. So I'm going to ask again. What the hell are you rambling about?" The biting chill of winter's grasp was little more than a stinging tingle in his palm as it seeped out and crept across the Templar's breastplate. 

Panic reflected itself in Keran's watery blue eyes, and his breathing quickened along with the pace of the words spilling out of his mouth. "Meredith will cause open war with the mages if she remains in power. She must be taken down, do you understand?"

Like the flip of a switch, the ice receded, and Wyatt almost dropped the man in his stupor. "Wait. What?"

"Easy, Hawke," Aveline coaxed as she laid a hand on his shoulder. "Let him down." 

"We need a real Viscount." With a sigh of relief, Keran took a cautious step backward from Hawke and party after his feet touched solid ground. "And we need templars who protect mages, not massacre them. Just look at what Thrask accomplished: mages and templars working together, isn't that what we all want?"

"I don't disagree, but what does Thrask have to do with this?" Still, he prodded the Templar for more details, anything to lift the haze of confusion — anything to clear up this apparent miscommunication.

"He's the one who brought us together. For six years he's been working, one mage and one templar at a time, teaching us we don't have to hate each other. He showed us Meredith isn't the only way."

Throughout Keran's bold proclamations, his passionate speech, Wyatt searched his understanding and found himself still wholly befuddled.

"That's all well and good, but I still don't understand. Why come after me? I couldn't have been more vocal about my support for the mages than if I vandalized the Knight Commander's office and left a personalized note." Now it was Keran's turn to look puzzled, but Wyatt carried on. "I still don't know how you thought I supported Meredith. She's absolutely daft, and if I knew the best way to chase her out of the city, I'd have done so by now." He ignored the disapproving snort from Fenris, out of no desire to argue the point.

"You're working for her, I thought?"

It was like lightning striking the earth in sudden revelation, and now the pieces were starting to fall into place. Or at least Hawke was finally a little wiser to the situation than he was at the start of this mess. "I would hardly call being threatened into doing her bidding _working_ for her, but sure. Go on."

"And what about those mages, the ones from Starkhaven?"

Hawke knew that one was going to come back and bite him in the ass eventually. "That situation was a disaster. And hardly my fault. I was planning to help them, and I did. Some of them were able to escape, before Kerras and his men showed up. But one of them - a blood mage - lashed out. I had no choice but to defend myself."

Varric cursed under his breath, and Aveline could have cut diamonds with the hard set of her jaw and stern scowl. It was Fenris who offered his commentary to the whole ordeal. "You saved them, and yet they turn on you. Cowards."

For once, Hawke was in complete agreement with the elf. "No kidding. Alright, we're done here. Tell me where I can find my friend."

Finally, Keran relaxed, and so had everyone else, "You'll find him at the Wounded Coast. For what it's worth Champion, I'm sorry it had to be one of yours."


	2. Chapter 2

The trek out to the coast was always a slog, but the fresh air was well worth it. Although still quite close to Kirkwall proper, merely getting out from behind the city's walls and out into the open always seemed to ease the anxious twitch that had settled in his palms after six years of living here. However, it did _nothing_ for his other problem. 

Hawke's eyes glossed over as he gazed dubiously out at the waves breaking against the rocky shoreline and rubbed the back of his head. Isabela had lauded over the ocean numerous times, sparing no detail about the salt in the air and the sense of serenity one ought to feel being out at sea. Her romanticism of a pirate's life was just that, Wyatt knew, but he could admit there had been times he was almost taken in by her tales. Until he recalled the unsteady rock of the ship beneath his feet, the way his gut lurched in rhythm with the sway and the briny stench of fish that took up permanent residence within his nostrils after the voyage from Gwaren.

"Eugh." Fenris scowled and wrinkled his nose, vocalizing his feelings perfectly.

Ahead, a vaguely familiar figure trotted towards them, serving as an excellent distraction from the ocean looming just beneath them.

"Well, here you are," drawled a husky but rasping voice. "You've been sticking your nose in every problem in Kirkwall since you stumbled off the boat." The man bared his teeth in an uneven smile that made Hawke recoil and study his haggard profile. Heavy bags shadowed sunken eyes, and his unkempt brown hair clung to his head by means of sweat and oil.

"I don't see anyone else lining up to help," he offered, with a healthy dose of snark. Recognition set in all too soon, and the memory of why this man was familiar left a sour taste on Hawke's tongue. He grimaced as he recalled their mercifully brief interaction on the docks when he had been searching for Feynriel some years ago. "Wait, now, I remember. You were the _upstanding citizen_ begging for coins to get your next flask of lyrium."

Samson just snorted, seemingly unbothered. "It's been a long time since anyone could get under my skin with that sort of jab. I know what I am, so it shouldn't surprise you to see me here, right? One more blockhead move that's gonna keep me in the gutter. I just wanted to see Meredith out on her ass, like she did to me." 

It was hard to feel much sympathy for the former Templar, considering his business of _helping_ young mages was wholly selfish. While it indeed liberated them from the Circle, the vast majority of the children wound up in slavery and lined pockets like those of Samson's. 

"So, this is purely a spite plea, then?" Aveline surprised him by interjecting, and Wyatt suppressed a chuckle. He couldn't have said it better.

Samson's barking laughter grated on his nerves. "Hah! I'd cheer to see her shipped to Val Royeaux, but I don't have the stomach to turn against all that's right and natural to do it. Honestly, I'd hoped with Meredith gone that I could take up the shield again."

_Of course._

"Your friends are on to something, you know. Without Meredith, Kirkwall stands a chance of being a better place than what it is right now." Hawke knew his words would hardly make a difference, as he suspected this Samson honestly had no 'better nature' to which to appeal, but it didn't hurt to try. 

"Or maybe - just maybe she's right. Give them mages just a taste of freedom, and they go bad. But what do I know?" He leered and stepped aside to let them pass with only a shrug of his shoulders.

Not one of them spoke another word to the ex-templar, but Aveline narrowed her eyes as they passed him and carried onward further up the coast. 

It was in a large clearing just at the bottom of a slope where a gaggle of mages and templars had gathered. Among them was a man in Templar regalia with receding ginger hair, and a worried frown almost hidden by a bushy beard. Ser Thrask wasn't a particularly tall fellow, but what he lacked in height he made up for in other ways. He had a kindly sort of face to match his much more subdued and pleasant temperament. One of the few men of the Order Wyatt considered worthy of his respect. It was because he knew Thrask to be a decent sort that it confused him to see the knight involved in such a plot.

Thrask turned his eyes to the party as they approached, and from the woeful expression and worry lines across his forehead, it was easy to glean his remorse. "I suppose it was too much to hope that you wouldn't have come here."

It was Varric who heckled Thrask, "Oh sure, you only nabbed Blondie because you wanted to have a perfectly civil discussion. Right. Our mistake."

"You didn't expect me _not_ to come after my friend, did you?"

"An unfortunate truth. However, I can't understand why you side with Meredith, not when you showed me we can stand up to her. When I realized you had risked your life lying to protect those mages - please Champion, I have nothing but respect for you, it's Meredith we must see gone."

Hawke cursed under his breath and closed his eyes to lessen the surmounting headache.

"Look," he opened his eyes again and steadied his breathing. He didn't wish to discredit himself by losing his temper. Raining fire down upon every last Templar gathered along the coast, regardless of their "innocence," wouldn't do well for anyone. "I don't know what you heard, but I support my own. Your cause is just, but it's your methods that I have a problem with. _Especially_ when you pull stunts like this!" 

Relief weighed down the Templar's armored shoulders, and his concern melted away. He visibly relaxed and even afforded a slight smile to show his appreciation. "I should have known you recognize the threat Meredith poses. I am truly sorry for any distress we caused you or your friends. Grace, Alain, please let the hostage go. Our business here is concluded." 

Grace. That was her name. Her face was familiar, as were the simple-stated robes that marked her as a mage, not of this city. Sure it had been a few years since they last crossed paths with the apostates from Starkhaven, but the memory stood out in Hawke's mind. He remembered Thrask asking for him to show mercy, and he hadn't been about to turn in his fellow mages back to the Circle, back to the Gallows of all places. Yet despite his efforts to help, their leader had been unable to let go of his paranoia.

It was much too complicated to be petty revenge, but not improbable. 

"No!" She turned on her heel away from Thrask with a clear threat in her sharp eyes, one that made everyone take notice. "He dies, then the Champion!" By the time she started moving, her staff was already grasped firmly in hand. 

Thrask was that much quicker as he inserted himself between her and the group of Templars who parted long enough to reveal a glimpse of an unconscious figure lying in the dirt. A figure whose blonde hair and distinct profile made Hawke's heart leap into his throat. What had they done? Just a cursory look wasn't enough to sate him, not as he felt the heat rising in his palm.

For a man in full plate, Thrask moved faster than he should have and stood resolute between the embittered mage and her would-be prey. "Stand down, Grace." His voice had raised in pitch but remained unwavering in its firmness. 

Blessed _fucking_ Maker for his help. Hawke wasn't sure what he would have done, had she laid a hand on Anders.

Only Aveline felt the courage to speak up while the others remained voiceless as if they, too, knew this was a very delicate situation. "And this is how you thank us for saving your ungrateful hide then?" 

"We will not kill an innocent to achieve our ends. It gains us nothing to become Meredith." Ser Thrask continued his attempts to reason with the woman, but it was pretty damn clear she wasn't interested in listening.

Grace sneered, still very set on her anger. "Meredith- _pah_ ," she spat in visible disgust, "What do I care for Meredith? I'm here for the Champion." 

"Whatever you want, just tell me," he proffered, with a show of hands to decrease his threat potential. "I'm sure we can work it-"

"Decimus was right. There is no way for a mage to live by the Chantry's laws. You killed the best man I ever met, but I learned all he had to teach. Alain, kill the hostage!" 

_Shit shit and more shit._ Could nothing just go right for once? Bitter was the memory of the man they killed, in the back of his throat like acid bile. He hadn't wanted to spill blood like that, not another mage who only desired freedom, for who he promised to lie and keep the templars off their tail long enough for them to get out of the city. Decimus had been a desperate man who feared for his safety and couldn't see past his paranoia. 

That's what Hawke kept trying to tell himself, at least.

Alain expressed his skepticism, sounding off as the only other voice of reason in a sea of madness. "I don't know. This isn't right, Grace; the Champion tried to help us…"

"Don't you defy me, boy, without me, you'd be nothing. If you're too squeamish, I'll do it myself."

Well, that wasn't any good. Wyatt looked on with waning restraint as she pushed her way past both Alain and Thrask, marching beyond the line of templars who were present when they arrived. 

"No, no one has to die here!"

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong."

"Restrain yourself!"

The fully armored accompaniment of templars made no effort to stop her. Nor did they aid their own man who pleaded with the wild-eyed apostate until she plunged the blade of her staff into her chest to draw red life, fuel for her attack. Everything just got ten times worse in the span of a breath. Before he could fully process what was happening, Wyatt operated on sheer instinct and readied his weapon, mirroring his companions and the Templar knights alike. Would the needless blood spilled never end? Would this city never be satisfied? 

_No_ , he realized as he called the spark to ignite in his hand, _not yet anyway._

-

By the time all was said and done and more bodies than not littered the ground, the remorse in Ser Thrask's face was indisputable. It was the same for his companions, Hawke noticed as he took stock of everyone.

Utter chaos. Despite the wisecrack sitting on the tip of his tongue, Wyatt chewed his lip and swallowed his stupid jokes. Now was not the time. Not as his heart still pounded in his chest, and he sucked in rapid breaths through flared nostrils. His eyes scanned the landscape desperately in search of Anders. The others could reconcile with Thrask; he needed to see - to make sure -

"I'm sorry," the young man anxiously murmured as he approached. Alain. The apology made Hawke lurch for a split second as he braced against his staff, expecting the worst. "Grace used blood magic to hold him; there's no other way to wake him up." The relief was like someone lifting a weight off of his chest, and suddenly he could breathe properly again. 

"Alright. Fine." He didn't mean to be so curt with Alain; it was just challenging for Wyatt to process everything when faced with the genuine possibility of losing someone else, someone so important to him. The boy was already skittish at best, but he was trying to help, and that counted for something. 

When the blade appeared in the mage's hand right before he struck his palm, Hawke grimaced but tried to focus solely on Anders, like he was a flickering flame threatening to go out. His reasonable mind knew it was fine, there had been no harm done, but reason and logic were tough to grasp when panic was the louder voice in his mind.

Once the agonizing minute passed and Alain snapped his fingers, it was instantaneous. Anders stirred, groaned, and slowly sat up. Still clearly disoriented, though conscious enough to have a vague awareness of his role as a hostage, he cracked an uncertain smile. "Well, this is embarrassing. I never thought of myself as a damsel in distress."

Wyatt couldn't help but express his sheer relief through a slightly frantic laugh before practically throwing himself at Anders. He wrapped his arms tightly around the other mage as if the man might disappear otherwise.

"Hawke," he gasped, startled by the sudden embrace. "I'm happy to see your face as well." Rather than letting go, he squeezed harder, burying his face in Anders's neck and his hand in the man's hair. "Wyatt?" Anders asked, quieter this time, just for his ears. " _Maker_ , you're shaking."

They both fell silent, but neither of them needed words to reach an understanding.

Eventually, one of them had to let go. Wyatt was reluctant but willing and able. "Shit. I was really worried - you're alright, though?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you, love." Anders further soothed his fretful mind with a gentle peck on the cheek. It was a small thing but appreciated as much as if it were some grand gesture. At the very least, it managed to release the knot that had formed in the pit of his stomach earlier. "Though I can't say I was expecting one of my own to turn on me…"

Whatever tenderness he could find in their moment was inadvertently ruined by the untimely arrival of the cavalry, in a sense. 

"I got here as soon as I-" came Samson's grating voice just from the west, flanked by no less than three more Templars, led by their blonde and baby-faced Knight Captain, Cullen.

As if this situation couldn't get any worse. Wyatt wasn't keen to hear what they wanted, or in the mood to deal with Cullen et al. 

"Champion, Samson never said you were involved in all of this."

With no humor to spare the man, who he usually had no severe qualms with beyond his station, Hawke was already on the defensive and made no effort to greet them with any amount of etiquette. He only had a sneering grin for the Templar. "Funny story, that. I may just be arsed to tell you someday."

Cullen sighed, already showing signs of regret, but he held his tongue and carried on. "I trust you were here to stop these traitors, not join them?"

With raised hackles, Hawke lifted his chin towards the group and ignored the way Anders bristled against him. "Traitors? Do you really want to use that word? About a group of people who were just doing what they were told, acting on what I assume were _your_ orders, no doubt. Or were they Meredith's?"

"Hawke, I don't think this is a good idea-" he heard Varric caution. Even Anders tried to pull his attention away, to reign him in, but fortune had it that Alain stepped in.

"The Champion is a good man, ser. He was trying to help, to solve things peacefully when Grace lashed out. Please, do not blame him."

"Fine," Cullen relented, with a grunt of displeasure. "Put the young mage to questioning."

Alain. He was a good kid. He didn't deserve to get mixed up in this madness, in Grace's tangled plot, or any of this absurdity. _Maker's balls._ Wyatt cursed himself for being too honest, for not finding another way to get the mages out of Kirkwall safely. "No." His declaration earned at least a few surprised stares, but nothing he felt the need to address right now. "He did nothing wrong. He was the only voice of reason when things got out of hand."

He had wanted to give the Knight Captain the benefit of the doubt after seeing him hesitate more than once, seeing questions behind his eyes and wondering just how deep his faith in the system ran. "You mean he was one of them, until a convenient change of heart last minute." But the man was making it difficult to dredge up that former sympathy, and the idea that maybe he was one faith crisis away from changing his stripes.

"Thank you for your support, Champion. But you don't have to worry about me."

Clenching his jaw hard enough, Hawke could feel his teeth grinding, but he held eye contact with Cullen, who eventually resigned to the unspoken request. "Alright. I'll do what I can to encourage Meredith to be mindful and show him mercy. But everyone else here is under arrest. Take them to the Gallows. Is there any _other_ request you would have me bring to the Knight Commander, Champion?"

Shit and piss. Wyatt faced the dreadful realization; there was nothing he could do for the rest, was there? The interjection by Aveline, who grabbed him by the arm before he could deliver a follow-up sure to get him, or all of them, killed, was well-timed. "Don't. Not the time, Hawke."

Why did his friends have to be right?

"If there's nothing else then, we will be on our way. Good day to you, Champion."

Without breaking his stare at the Knight Captain as he retreated, Hawke clutched Anders's hand and gripped tighter than ever. 

Something had to change. And soon.


End file.
